On My Father's Wings
by Jacovi
Summary: I wasn't sure how long I stood there for, but suddenly I felt another hand on my shoulder. I looked up into the eyes of my father. He stared at me sternly, and I felt myself shrink back. But then he smiled softly, and his eyes turned warm.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron**

**Flames are welcome, but I believe that you can express your point without the use of profanity. Reviews are very much appreciated. Updates will be soon.**

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The sun had just set on the cavalry post. It was one of those cloudless nights, where you could look up and see just about any star between Earth and Pluto. The moon was full, adding to the beauty of it all. Lamps were lit around the post, so that we could actually see. It got real dark at night, back in my day. Without the lamps, you could hardly see your own hand in front of your face, and that was on a clear night. Those of you who have gone camping out in the wilderness may have an idea of what I am talking about.

I was leaning against the railing of the arena, since I'd just finished my jobs for that day. I was the stable boy at the post, therefore my day consisted of mucking dung, filling food bowls, occasionally grooming if I was lucky (someone else usually groomed them), then mucking more dung. It wasn't the best job in the world, nor did it pay very much, but I had my reasons for taking it.

I saw Murphy, the groomer and farrier, walking towards me with his shoulders squared, head up facing the world. His bandaged head stood out in the moonlight, and I could see his newly blackened eye. He seemed irritated, but I couldn't blame him. I would be to if I'd been the one trying to groom that mustang. He leaned against the fence next to me and ran a hand over his face. I wanted to talk about the mustang they'd brought in—every time I thought about him, I got excited. He was the first mustang I'd seen since I came here—but I figured it wouldn't be such a great idea. I figured it would make Murphy even more irritated.

To my surprise, and my delight, Murphy was the one who brought him up by saying, "So, sonny, how 'bout that mustang?" I looked up at him, eye shining.

"He's a handsome one," I said, "and spirited. I'm not sure if I've seen one that wild." Murphy looked amused.

"Have you even seen one before this one?" he asked me. I shrugged.

"Well, yeah, sort of. I've seen ones that weren't completely broke. None of them are like this one though!" Murphy rolled his eyes at me and chuckled.

"He's not gonna be broke in a couple days. I hear your father's going to break him." My smile disappeared. Something about this horse being broken didn't really appeal to me right then. Murphy frowned too, and studied my face, not understanding my reaction. I didn't fully understand it either.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that," I said. I pinched the bridge of my nose slightly, then looked up at him and smiled. "He'll break him real good." Murphy smiled too.

"After what that stallion did to me, I should hope so," he said. I sighed and gripped the fence, staring out at the stallion tied to the post in the coral. He looked up dully, his eyes wandering around the cavalry post then his eyes met mine. My breath caught, and I wished that he'd take the same interest in me that I had in him, but he just looked down again and rested his head against the post. I sighed and looked down at my hands. I then realized that Murphy was still watching me.

He didn't say anything, just gripped my shoulder for a second with his hand, turned, and then walked away. I gave him a half hearted smile before looking back out at the mustang. He was magnificent. Tall and proud, he had this air of freedom that followed him. He was a Kiger mustang, with the perfect buckskin coloring. I sighed. And in a few days, he'd never be that same tall, proud, spirited horse.

I wasn't sure how long I stood there for, taking in the way he looked that night, but suddenly I felt another hand on my shoulder. I looked up into the eyes of my father. He stared at me sternly, and I felt myself duck slightly. But then he smiled softly, and his eyes turned warm. I couldn't help but smile back. He gently steered me away from the corral, and towards the sleeping areas. None of the men got to see this side of my father. I felt honored and lucky because of that fact, but most of all I just felt warm. No one would think my father to be a good parent. They would think him to be stern, cold, and unloving. They might still think that by watching us, but my father shows love in a different, quieter sort of way.

I turned back and smiled at him before I entered the sleeping area. He gave a small smile back and nodded at me. Neither of us could have possibly known how the following days would impact our lives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron**

**Well, here's chapter two. Reviews are always appreciated. :)**

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I woke up early in the morning, like the other stable boy, to go and feed the horses. The way the post was set up there was one large stable to the right of the entrance of the post. Next to the stable, along the wall, was where my father stayed. Straight across from there were a few hitching posts. A large lookout surrounded the cavalry post which provided a shelter along the perimeter of the wall. You couldn't reach it without a ladder, and men stood up there to keep a lookout for Indians. Hence its name. There were many small buildings along the sides of the wall, and they were mainly used for eating, sleeping, and storage.

We had well over 60 horses in the big stable, so looking after them was a job. Luckily, I wasn't the only stable hand at the post. There was an older boy who'd held the job longer than I had: a tall, kind boy named Calvin. He had dark blonde, sort of shaggy hair, an oval face, soft brown eyes, and that loyal sort of dog like personality. He was around seventeen years of age, and he'd been working as a stable hand for a while now. As we finished up our first job of the day, Calvin and I made eye contact. He was about to give me one of his toothy smiles when a loud shout breached through the air.

"We caught a hostile!" Our heads snapped into the direction of the entrance where two soldiers were leading—practically carrying—an Indian man into the post. Calvin and I exchanged glances before I ran out of the stable towards the scene. Calvin rolled his eyes at me, leaned the pitchfork he was holding against the side of the stable, and followed me more slowly, calmly.

"Bring him back this way!" one of the men said, and the two soldiers dragged the Indian over towards the Colonel, who was right outside his sleeping area. My father watched them calmly and carefully. The soldiers thrust the hostile to the ground, and he groaned. Some of the men around him chuckled.

"Well, what do we have here?" my father asked, taking a step forward to look at the hostile.

"We caught him by the supply wagon, sir," the soldier to the hostile's left reported, pulling the Indian's head back. The hostile looked up at the Colonel with more curiosity than anger.

"Ah, a Lakota," my father said coolly. "Not as tall as the Cheyenne, not as fine featured as the Crow." As he spoke, the Indian man's gaze turned more adverse. "Take him away. Show him our best." I took a few more steps forward, and my father saw me. He gave me one of his calm looks, before turning his attention back to the Lakota.

"Corporal, take him to the stockades," one of the men said. My father's eyes rested on that man.

"Not the stockades," he told him. "The post. No food or water." I furrowed my brow as the two soldiers shoved the hostile along. I wondered how long it would be before we gave the Indian food or water, and what we were going to do with him. Then I decided that my father must have a plan, so I went with it. I took a few more steps towards my father. He didn't notice.

"C'mon!" The voice drew my attention back to the Lakota. He'd slowed down to take a look at the stallion. Finally, the soldiers got tired of it, so one of them thrust his head away from the mustang.

"_What_ are you looking at, boy?" he growled at him, and pushed him along. The men chuckled as the put him on the post. I cracked a small smile.

"Well, that's an exciting way to start the day." I looked over my shoulder to see Calvin standing there, wearing his crooked smile. I hadn't even noticed him come up.

"Yeah, no kidding," I agreed. He continued to smile as he gestured towards the stable.

"Come on, we should get back to work." I grinned and followed him back to the stable.

The rest of the day was otherwise almost the same as any other day at the cavalry post. I mucked stalls, groomed a few horses, and fed them while the men kept a lookout or rode their horses in formation. There was the occasional moment where one of the men would act like a complete goof and do something stupid, usually ending up in a puddle of mud, a pile of dung, or like today, in a water trough. As the sun set, the men made their way to their sleeping quarters. Calvin and I started to follow them.

Before I entered, I turned around to get another look at the stallion standing out in the corral. He looked bored as he pulled on the rope tying him to the post half heartedly. I sighed, feeling almost sorry for the horse. I heard the sound of a wolf, followed by an owl as I walked into the sleeping areas. I furrowed my brow at the sound. _No,_ I told myself, _it must be a coyote_, and I walked inside.


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter three. Please let me know what you think so far. **

**Reviews are very much appreciated. Flames are welcome, however I believe that you can express your opinion without the use of profanity.**

**Thank you. :)**

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In the morning we awoke to the sound of the trumpet blowing. I groaned softly. I was too comfortable to get up, and the longer I lay there, the less I could hear the trumpet, and the sounds of the men filing out the door. In fact, the sound of the boots hitting the floor became sort of relaxing, except one pair of footsteps was slower, and didn't match the beat. The sound stopped at my cot. I heard the sound of someone's voice talking to me, but I was too asleep to make out the words. The more he spoke, the more awake I became.

" . . .assembling outside. Come on." I blinked sleepily, and turned my head in the direction of the voice to see Calvin staring down inquiringly, waiting for my reaction. I stifled a yawn as I slowly sat up.

"Hey, Cal," I said, stifling another yawn. I bent over, searching for my shoes that must have gotten under my cot somehow.

"Here." I looked up to see Calvin holding my boots out to me. I grunted my thanks, and started to put them on. "Hurry up. Everyone's already outside." I was suddenly awake. I fumbled to finish putting my shoes on, shot up, and tapped Calvin's arm as I ran outside, motioning for him to follow me. By the time we got outside, the men were already assembled, and one of the soldiers was giving his report as the Colonel paced in front of him, breathing a cigar.

"The railroad has expressed concerns, sir. They've requested additional patrols," he said. I crossed my arms as I listened.

"Hostile reports," Calvin explained in a whisper to me. I nodded my understanding.

"How long has it been, sergeant?" the Colonel asked. The sergeant blinked, confused slightly.

"Sir?" he asked.

"The mustang," said the Colonel, his gaze sweeping back to the man. "How long has it been tied?" His eyes moved back to the stallion.

"Three . . . days, sir," the man answered. The Colonel's face remained emotionless as he exhaled his smoke.

"Good. Fetch me my crop and spurs," he ordered, his eyes never leaving the mustang. He put his cigar back up to his mouth to take another drag. The sergeant was silent for a few moments, eyeing the Colonel.

"Yes, sir," he said finally. I felt my eyes light up, excited to be able to see my father break a horse. I knew he was an excellent horseman, but I'd never really seen him in action, save for when he rode his bay gelding around the post. I looked up at Calvin, who was staring out at my father, his expression unreadable. He then looked at me, his face sterner for some reason.

"Come on," he said, "let's go check on the horses." I blinked, a sudden realization hitting me. I'd overslept that morning and gotten up when the trumpet blew, instead of waking up earlier and feeding the horses. My heart sank, because I knew that I had not done my job correctly. Calvin read my face and ruffled my hair slightly. "Hey, it's okay, I took care of it for you this morning. You looked tired," he told me. I sighed a relief, but I was still internally beating myself up. I couldn't believe that I'd messed up already.

"Thank you," I told him. He smiled at me, and gestured towards the corral. Some of the men were already leading—or trying to lead—the mustang over into the small, fenced in area. He didn't like at first, but as he saw the saddle and my father together, his ears pricked up, and his expression turned smug. He trotted loftily and easily over into the fenced area, and let them close the gate. His eyes were determined, and he pawed at the ground, anxious to get started. I looked up at Calvin as the men fought the tack onto the stallion. He was gazing up at the clouds, and the sunlight that was beginning to peak through them. Maybe he was thinking that he didn't have an interest in my father breaking this mustang, because he already knew how it was going to turn out. He could have been wondering why or how this mustang could be so spirited, that my father was the one who would have to break him. Either way, I wish I knew his thoughts.

As soon as the gate opened, the stallion took off with large leaps, kicking his legs out in the air, and grunting angrily. He was so quick that it was hard to see exactly what was going on. The stallion bucked, and snarled, leaped and reared, but stopped in the middle of the coral. My father kicked him in the sides, and the mustang's eyes widened angrily. He took a large jump to the right, and as soon as his front legs touched the ground, he took off in a series of bucks and rears. My father tightened his reins, keeping his hands steady as he fought for control. The stallion snarled, reared up, and veered in a sharp turn, and bucked in a circle. He then raced forward, and made a tight circle in an attempt to off balance my father. My father hit his flank with the crop, and the stallion bolted forward. My father then tightened his reins again, and pulled back.

"Good stallion, back, back, back," I heard my father grunt, as the stallion back stepped, reared up, then continued to back step. The stallion snorted, bolted forward, and then slid to a stop. My father made a face, and kicked him in the sides again. The mustang's nostrils flared, my father tightened his grip, and they raced around the corral, my father losing his hat in the process. During the run, he continually hit the stallion's flank with his crop. The mustang bucked twice, and each time my father hit him with the crop.

Becoming desperate, the stallion dashed to one side of the corral, and slammed his side against it. My father kept his balance, even as the stallion bucked again, and slammed into another side of the corral. He hit him with the crop again, and the stallion bucked, sprinted then dived to the ground. Somehow, my father was able to stay on as the mustang rolled to his feet, trying to catch his breath. They both breathed deeply as they stood in the middle of the arena. The whites of the stallion's eyes showed as he looked around desperately. The entire post seemed to be holding its breath, but there was nothing left for the stallion to do. Panting, my father sat upright in the saddle, and pushed a loose hair out of his face.

Straightening his tie, he said, "You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken." He leaned over and patted the shocked horse's neck. He nudged his sides, saying, "Move along, mustang," and the horse walked forward. The men applauded. My eyes widened in admiration of my father as he rode the mustang around the arena. I looked up at Calvin with excited eyes, but he did not return my excitement. Instead, he was gazing out at the hooves of the mustang unenthusiastically, and it was then that I really wondered what he was thinking. I was about to ask, when my father started talking again.

"There are those in Washington who believe that the west will never be settled . . . the Northern-Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska . . ." He stopped the mustang at the Indian tied to the post, and looked down at him. " . . . the hostile Lakota will never submit to progress." He urged the horse on. "And it is that manner of small thinking that saying that this horse could never be broken. Discipline, time, and patience are the three great levelers." They continued to walk past the horses tied to the hitching post, but suddenly the mustang came to an abrupt stop, and his expression changed. He glared up at my father, and my father stared down at him quizzically. I furrowed my brow as I watched. "Mustang?"

The stallion swung his head and seized hold of the reins with his teeth. He then proceeded to swing them over to his right, taking them out of my father's hands. He reared up, and bolted forward towards the side of the corral. Upon reaching it, he reared up again, and rested his legs on top of it, his tail sweeping out behind him happily, like a dog's. The men hurried back away from the fence and stared in shock. My father grabbed a hold of the mustang's mane as he reared up again, and then again. On the second rear, the buckle of the saddle snagged and broke on the side of the fence, sending my father over the stallion's head. He still held onto the horse's mane, and the looked at each other, face to face. The stallion snorted, and swung my father up into the air. He tumbled backwards onto the fence, breaking it. My father flew through the air and landed on his back hardly. Three men rushed over and pulled him to his feet.

There was a shocked, eerie silence that followed the display. All I could do was stare at my father, not knowing what to think or what to make of what had just happened. The first time I got to see my father break a horse was the time that a Kiger mustang sent him soaring from the corral. My father glared at the buckskin furiously. Suddenly, a loud whinny came from the stable, and a few more of the horses chorused in until the entire stable seemed to be cheering. Everyone turned their heads to look at the happy horses. I blinked at them in surprise, then turned my attention back to my father fearfully. His eyes locked with mine. I could tell mine were filled with a mixture of fear and confusion. His were enraged, and after seeing my expression, they became dangerous. I shrunk back.

"Soldier!" my father snapped. "Secure that horse!" He quickly snatched a gun from the man on his right, pulled back the hammer, and aimed it at the stallion. A hush fell over the post as a soldier grabbed the reins of the mustang. My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes widened in fear. I couldn't let this happen. I loved my father, but I felt like what he was about to do was a mistake. I rushed forward towards him.

"No, don't do it!" I yelled at him, but in his rage, he could not hear me. Mad men don't have ears. I ran to him, but before I could, he pulled the trigger. What happened in the next millisecond was a blur. The hostile, somehow escaping from the post, uttered a small battle cry, and he shoved the gun downwards with his knife, the bullet evading the stallion and saving his life. As the stallion bolted away, he swung himself onto his side, and rode him awkwardly towards one of the hitching posts. As they passed, the stallion broke the post with his body, and the three horses tied to it took off after him. I stood there in shock for a moment, before looking at my father. His eyes darted to me then back to the stallion. His eyes narrowed.

"Get that horse," he snarled. The men next to him rushed off. I stood there looking at him. He glared at me, and gave a quick, small nod in a gesture for me to do the same. I turned my head, just in time to see the stallion running towards the entrance, all of the horses that were in the stable following him. I sprinted over to him, as Murphy blocked the gap made between the two gates. The stallion slid to a stop to face him, and as he did, I grabbed the reins on his right side. His ears flattened, and his eyes shot over to look at me. He could sense my fear, as could the Indian on the other side of him. I tried to swallow it, and got a better grip on the reins.

"C'mon, stallion," I said in a hard tone, my voice trying to crack in the middle of my sentence. The stallion snorted at me, and I nudged back on the reins. He half reared, and I waved my free arm up at him to get him to land. He was furious, and I didn't know how to control him. He reared up again, and I gave him a little rein so that I could avoid his lashing hooves. I glanced at my father out of the corner of my eye and shot him a panicked, 'what do I do' look. He ran towards me, but not before the Indian took advantage of my distraction, and swung the rifle he'd taken off of one of the soldiers around his head then landed the butt of it on mine. I yelped in surprise, and fell backwards towards the ground. I quickly rolled to my feet, tripping the Indian in the process, and grabbed the barrel of the rifle. I yanked it free from the hostile's hands, and swung the butt of it at his temple. It hit it's mark, but the Indian landed a blow to my stomach with a sharp kick. It knocked the breath out of me, and it gave him enough time to leap to his feet, and punch me repeatedly in the face. I was on the ground in a matter of thirty to forty-five seconds, and I heard the sound of hoof beats racing away.

I felt someone taking me under arm and pulling me to my feet. I was panting hard, and my head hurt from where the hostile had beaten me. I blinked a few times and focused my eyes on Calvin, who stared at me concerned.

He put an arm around my shoulders and asked gently, "Hey, are you alright?" I nodded slightly. The men knew that I wasn't much of a fighter. I never had been, and I probably never would be. I would be able to land a punch that hurt occasionally, if need be, but I didn't go much further than that. I was okay with it, too. I'd never felt like I'd have to prove myself to anyone through fighting, but right then and there, I felt weak and stupid. Overall, I felt guilty. My complete lack of fighting skills had cost us a beautiful, spirited stallion and a Lakota captive. I exhaled slowly, and pushed Calvin away.

"I'll be fine," I grunted solemnly. Calvin narrowed his eyes at me, immediately knowing something was wrong. He didn't say anything though. I stared down at my feet for a while then brought my head up to see my father standing a ways off from me. He was angry still, I could tell by the way his shoulders bristled slightly, but as he saw me, he stopped. His face was emotionless and unreadable. I shrank back from him, feeling as if I'd failed him, and took a step backwards. He took a step in my direction, but then turned to look at a soldier to reply to something. When he looked up next, I was gone.


End file.
